In Node-Based Scenario Design we explored an alternative to the typical plotted approach to scenario design: By designing a situation instead of a plot we create a flexible environment in which the meaningful choices of the players are allowed to flourish. And by organizing the elements of that situation into nodes we retain the clarity of the plotted approach without accepting the limitations of its straitjacket.

Now that we’ve established the basic elements of node-based design, however, I want to explore some of the tips and tricks I’ve learned in working with node-based prep.

Let’s start by taking a closer look at the fundamental structure of node-based design: How do the players move from one node to the next?

In discussing basic node-based design I defaulted to clue-based movement because (a) it’s simple; (b) it’s versatile; and (c) it clearly demonstrates just how powerful and flexible the node-based approach can be. It’s also fairly universal in my experience: Whatever other methods I may be using, the clue-based approach is virtually always part of the mix.

But it’s not the only way.

PUSH vs. PULL

Let’s start with a general principle.

In discussing narrative velocity in computer games, Andrew Doull coined the terms “push” and “pull”. I find Doull’s usage of the terminology a little vague, but nonetheless useful as a basic concept: A “pull” happens when the players want to explore, experience, or discover a node. A “push” happens when the players are forced to do these things.

A pull, by its nature, requires that the players have some sort of knowledge about the node which makes it desirable for them. The appeal of the pull can take the form of a reward, an opportunity, or any other form of benefit. In a typical D&D dungeon, the pull is the promise of treasure. In a mystery scenario, the simple promise that “you might find some clues over there” is often more than enough of a pull.

A push can similarly rely on player knowledge (“rob the bank or your girlfriend dies”), but it doesn’t necessarily require it. For example, the PCs can be pushed into an encounter with the assassin hunting them (by way of ambush) without ever being aware that the assassin was coming. In other cases, the PCs’ ignorance may be the entire difference between a push and a pull. For example, they might have loved to seek out the Hidden Citadel of the Golden Empire if they had ever heard about it. But since they didn’t, it was a complete push when they randomly stumbled across it during a hexcrawl.

In practice, the distinction between a push and a pull can be somewhat muddy. This is particularly true once you start layering motivations. (For example, the PCs might be forced to investigate the recent raids by giant war parties when the duke threatens to execute them if they don’t. But once they’re engaged in the investigation, the pursuit of individual clues might still be pulls. And maybe they’d already been pulled by the giant raids because Patric’s father was killed by frost giants.)

It should also be noted that pushes don’t need to be fait accompli. The duke threatening to kill them if they don’t investigate the giant raids is certainly a push, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they don’t have the option to leave the duchy and seek their fortunes elsewhere. (Or assassinate the duke. Or bribe him to leave them alone. Or kidnap his daughter and hold her hostage until he grants them a pardon. Or any number of other things.) In other words, the game world can push at the PCs without the GM railroading them.

Pulls and pushes also don’t have to be limited to character motivations; they can also act on player motivations. If you’ve ever heard your players say “let’s find some orcs to kill so that we can level up”, then you’ve heard the siren call of the metagame pull. But this can also take the simple form of “let’s explore the Eyrie of the Raven Queen ‘cause it sounds like the most fun”.

Whether pushing or pulling or both, a node still needs to overcome a certain “gravity” in order to be explored. For some groups, this gravity is simple apathy. (You need to make the place sound a lot more interesting or threaten them with a lot more consequences before they’ll drag their sorry asses out of the local tavern.) Sometimes it’s the competition with other active pulls and pushes. (“We’d love to deal with the Temple of Deep Chaos, but first we need to make sure the Pactlords can’t breach the Banewarrens.”) Or it might be the known and suspected costs of going to the node. (“The Tomb of Horrors may contain a ton of treasure and that’s a fantastic pull… but it’s still a bloody death trap and I don’t want to go there.”)

Go to Part 2: Node Navigation

Over on Hack & Slash, -C has written an interesting trio of posts on the matter of the Quantum Ogre:

On Quantum Ogres

On Slaying Quantum Ogres

On Resurrecting Quantum Ogre

If you enjoy some of the theoretical stuff I post around this neck of the woods, you’ll probably enjoy this stuff, too.

With that being said, however, I pretty strongly disagree with some of his advice. An addendum I’d like to point out: Players making a choice without having relevant information is only a problem if they don’t have the ability to gain that information. The choice to not get that information is a meaningful choice. (Or the failure to do so is a meaningful consequence.)

So any time he recommends giving players access to information that their characters don’t actually have access to, you can just imagine me shaking my head sadly. That technique is killing player agency just as dead as the quantum ogre is.

In Ptolus, the House of the Sacred Heat believes in the divine healing power of fire. They are not priests and they do not have truly holy magic, but their techniques “serve the needs of Ptolusites who cannot afford to pay a temple hundreds of gold coins to heal a wound or deal with an illness.”

This concept of fantastical healing lying somewhere between the naturalistic limits of the Heal skill and the magical extremes of divine magic has always been very appealing to me. Unfortunately, the purview of the sacred heat wasn’t given any mechanical definition. Without that mechanical definition, there’s no compelling reason for the PCs to ever interact with the Healers of the Sacred Heat. As a result, in a setting already teeming with activity, the Sacred Heat is a non-entity.

Reading through Reign t’other day, however, I found the esoteric discipline of Truil Bodywork. Greg Stolze describes this discipline, in part, by writing: “Some Truils argue, quite seriously, that bodywork functions by compressing a month’s suffering into ten or fifteen minutes. The bodyworkers themselves just roll their eyes at the jibe.”

Reign is built on the One-Roll Engine (ORE), so the pain-for-gain mechanics of Truil Bodywork don’t directly translate. But the basic concept was inspiring. Here’s the Healer of the Sacred Heat feat:

HEALER OF THE SACRED HEAT

Prerequisite: Heal 5 ranks

Benefit: The character gains access to the Healing Arts of the Sacred Heat. As long as they have access to an open flame, they gain a +2 circumstance bonus to Heal checks and they can also use any of the following abilities.

Burning Out the Poison: By using flame and heat applied to specific locations on the body, a Healer of the Sacred Heat can attempt to burn a poison out of a patient’s body. (Some ingested poisons will also require the patient to swallow specially prepared coals.) This treatments takes 1 round and deals 1d6 points of nonlethal damage to the patient, but if the healer succeeds on a Heal check with a DC equal to that of the original poison + 5 the patient is completely cured. (They suffer no additional effects from the poison and any temporary effects are ended. However, the treatment does not reverse instantaneous effects such as hit point damage, temporary ability damage, and the like.)

Cooling the Disease: By using strategically placed flames or heat sources around a patient’s body, a Healer of the Sacred Heat can create a biorhythmic vortex which will draw heat out of the body. As the heat departs the body, it draws non-magical diseases with it. The treatment takes 10 minutes and deals 1d6 points of nonlethal damage to the patient due to the sudden chilling of their body, but if the healer succeeds on a Heal check with a DC equal to that of the original disease +5 the patient will automatically succeed on their next saving throw against the disease.

Cauterizing the Wound: With 10 minutes of work and a successful Heal check (DC 15), a Healer of the Sacred Heat can convert lethal damage to nonlethal damage equal to their margin of success. A patient receiving this treatment also suffers 1d6 points of additional nonlethal damage due to the strain placed on their body by the technique.

DESIGN NOTES

I’m tempted to add a “once per day per patient” limitation to Cauterizing the Wound, but I’m  not sure it’s actually necessary. What do y’all think?

This material is covered by the Open Game License.

Last month in his “Legends & Lore” column, Mike Mearls discussed a skill system he and Monte Cook had schemed up in which DCs would be replaced with a descriptive tier of difficulties: Novice/Journeyman/Expert/Master/Grandmaster/Impossible. I wasn’t a fan of this system because it mostly obfuscated simpler mechanics and added complexity without actually giving much (if anything) back.

When Monte Cook revisited the topic this week, however, it made me realize they might be onto something — although I don’t think they’ve quite realized it yet. (Cook’s proposal is still over-baking mechanical complexity without actually accomplishing anything more than the current system.)

But if they can completely jettison the concept of skill ranks, I think they might have a winner.

(1) Set the target number for all tasks to 15. (Or whatever number makes sense; I haven’t actually run any math on this.)

(2) Define each task as Skilled/Expert/Master and give it a level. (For example, a Level 10 Expert task.)

(3) If you meet the minimum requirements for the task, you automatically succeed. (If you’re a Level 10 Expert, you succeed at any Skilled or Expert task of Level 10 or lower automatically without making a check.)

(4) If you’re missing one of the requirements, you have to make an ability check. This check is modified by the difference in level between you and the task. You also gain a +5 or -5 modifier for each difference in skill level.

For example, if you’re a 10th-level Skilled Typographer and you’re attempting a Level 8 Expert typography task, you would make a Intelligence check with a -3 modifier (+2 for being two levels higher than the task; -5 for being Skilled instead of an Expert in the skill).

Similarly, if you’re a 6th-level character who doesn’t have the Decipher Script skill and you’re attempting to decrypt a Level 10 Master code, you would make an Intelligence check with a -19 penalty (-4 for being four levels lower than the task; -15 for being three skill levels lower than Master).

What’s the point? The point is that you’ve eliminated a Page 42 table look-up for skill DCs. And you’ve automated the equivalent of the Take 10 mechanic so that it doesn’t require any calculation at all.

You’ve also effectively eliminated skill checks entirely and focused things back onto ability checks as a core mechanic. This is mostly a sleight of hand, but it can provide one meaningful advantage: You can casually re-key a skill to a different ability score without needing to recalculate a skill bonus (since the check is just an ability check). (One thing I’ve always loved about dice pool systems is the ease with which you could do this, but it’s always been too much of a pain in the ass for D20. It’s not really meaningful for most skills, of course, but it can really crank up the versatility of a system.)

One potential problem with this system is that there’s no clear way to do opposed checks in a completely satisfactory fashion. But you can resolve this by setting which skill sets the task and which skill resolves the task. (For example, if Stealth sets the task then a character’s skill level sets the difficulty of the Perception task. A 10th-level character with an Expert ranking in Stealth, for example, requires a Level 10 Expert Perception task.) Or, alternatively, by always using player-faced mechanics. (If a PC is sneaking past an NPC, the NPC’s Perception skill sets the difficulty of the Stealth task. If the PC is trying to spot an NPC, the NPC’s Stealth skill sets the difficulty of the Perception task.)

Another potential problem is that you have done a pretty good job of obfuscating probabilities. If I’m a 10th-level expert, what’s the difference between a Level 12 Skilled task and a Level 7 Master task? You can work out the math, but it’s not as self-evident as pure numbers would be. On the other hand, in terms of actual play, is that significant?

Somewhere in the OSR blogosphere, somebody posted a list of alternative powers for old-school wights instead of level-draining. (Simply swap in the alternative power.) This was insanely cool and insanely useful and I used it a lot while stocking a mini-hexcrawl a few months back.

And now I’ve lost it and my Google-fu is proving weak.

This sound familiar to anybody? Can you toss me a link?

Thanks.